


Stargazing

by quadrotriticale



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Gen, POV Jack Kline, POV Second Person, a little bit of destiel but its just vaguely mentioned so i didnt include it in my tags, a nice lil ficlet, jack is my son and i love him, this is vaugely AUish
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-03-29
Updated: 2019-03-29
Packaged: 2019-12-26 12:45:29
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,063
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18282638
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/quadrotriticale/pseuds/quadrotriticale
Summary: Jack has some questions. Cas does his best to answer.





	Stargazing

**Author's Note:**

> hey everyone its the end of the school term im tired im depressed and i love jack kline with my whole heart i swear to god hes the only reason i watch supernatural anymore

You are… young. You are new, still. Your life can be measured in years, months, days, and the numbers are small enough to manage. You don't know much, but you know what it's like to feel loved, and you know what it's like to love back. You think that is what's important.

It's summer, only the second one you've ever known. It's warm, the air is heavy and sweet, and you swat mosquitoes off your hands when they manage to find your skin. Cas doesn't seem to notice or mind the bugs where he sits beside you, but you guess that's the virtue of being an angel. You know in the cities, you can't see the stars, you remember looking up at the sky once in Kansas City and being upset when you couldn't see them, but they're clear here, outside of the bunker and away from city lights. You know what stars are, of course, you've asked and you've looked it up yourself, but you still think they're beautiful. You wonder what Cas thinks about them. You stretch out, lay back in the grass, and sigh contently. Cas looks down at you for a moment, before turning his attention back up. You trace the band of the Milky Way and imagine that you can feel the Earth turning.

“Were you around when God created the stars?” you ask him eventually. 

“No,” he replies, “but God only set the process in motion, and provided the ingredients. Stars are part of the universe's design, and God created the universe, but the stars just grew out of the clouds of dust and gas he left behind.”

“Oh,” you reply. The stars twinkle above you and you imagine that you actually know all of the constellations. You pretend you see a dog, and a man throwing a spear, seven sisters, a dragon. “Were you around when God made humans?”

“No,” he looks down at you now, and you look back at him. His wings are torn, bare, burnt, and you wonder if they ever hurt. “God planned humans, and all life in the universe before I was created, and then disappeared to live within it. I was born after the birth of the universe.”

“Did you ever meet God?”

“Not until recently.”

“How old are you?”

“I'm afraid I've lost count.”

“Are you older than the Earth?”

“And the sun, and the galaxy.”

“Wow. Is that a long time?”

"A very long time."

You turn your attention back to the stars, try to count all that you can see. One, two, three... you lose count just after 500 and try again. Cas looks back at the sky as well.

“Why did you leave Heaven?” you ask, after a while. Cas doesn't respond right away, and you wait patiently.

“Love,” he says, eventually. You look up at him curiously.

“Love?”

“Mm. The more time I spent down here, the more I fell in love with… humanity, and the planet, all the beauty there is down here, and…”

“And Dean?”

“Mm.”

“Do you ever miss Heaven?”

“Sometimes.”

“Will you ever go back?”

“I'm not sure. There are so few of us left, so maybe someday. It would be nice to go home.”

“Could I come?”

“Of course.”

You sit in silence again. A cloud obscures your view of the moon for a moment, and you listen to the croaking of the frogs and the chirp of crickets around you. You hear an owl, distantly. You swat away a bug.

“Stars are beautiful,” you tell him.

“They are. I can see why humans enjoy them so much,” he replies.

“Can you see the stars in Heaven?”

“Not like this.”

“Oh. That's sad.”

“It is.”

The moon is beautiful, you think. A pockmarked half circle tonight, you wonder what the sky looks like from the surface. You could go there, if you wanted. You consider it for a while. 

"Is there anyone else like me?" you ask. Cas doesn't turn his face to look at you. 

"There have been," he says, "but there isn't right now."

"Why?"

He's quite for a long time, after that. You don't push him for answers- Cas takes a long time to respond sometimes, and you can wait.

"Many angels see- or, saw, Nephilim as abominations," he replies eventually, slowly. "I admit I thought like that as well, before you. All of the power of an angel with the will and whims of a human is... dangerous, I think."

When you don't respond, he continues, turning to look down at you now. 

"I was wrong, though. We all were."

You smile. Cas gives you one of his own, small and a little bit awkward, before looking back up. You feel warm.

You stay outside, talk intermittently until the sun peeks over the horizon, paints the sky in reds and purples and oranges. Your stomach growls. You wonder if Dean is awake and if he's made breakfast. Cas suggests you head back inside, and you agree.

The bunker is quiet this early in the morning, dark with the lights off, but you can see the faint glow from the kitchen and hear someone humming a song you've heard but don't know the name of. Dean is awake, cooking himself something to eat, asks if you want any when he sees you. You smile, tell him yes. Cas disappears somewhere in the bunker, and you just hang around the kitchen.

“Were you outside all night?” he asks, over the sizzle of bacon, eggs, and hashbrowns.

“Yes.”

“Do anything interesting?”

“We just talked and watched the stars.”

“Huh.”

“It was nice.”

“Well, good.”

He plates some bacon, some hash browns, some scrambled eggs, grabs a fork and passes it all to you before turning back to the stove and setting to work making his own food. You set yourself down at the table and dig in to your breakfast. Dean is a good cook, but you really wouldn't know any better.

Over at the stove, he sings a new song to himself, quiet and off key as he cooks. You know the name of this one, you think, but you can’t quite remember it right now. It’s some song by Led Zeppelin, one of the ones that make you feel soft and comfortable. You hum along in between fork-fulls. Dean smiles to himself.

Life is good, you think.


End file.
